


Zorro, But With More Parkour

by LadyDrace



Series: Connor Is Basically Zorro [1]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Human, Cat Burglar Connor (Detroit: Become Human), M/M, Plot Twists, Thief Connor (Detroit: Become Human)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-27
Updated: 2020-10-27
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:14:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27224824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyDrace/pseuds/LadyDrace
Summary: Hank has been chasing a cat burglar for months, but he can never seem to catch him.What he can do, apparently, is rapidly lose his marbles from how hard this slinky criminal seems to want to get into his pants.
Relationships: Hank Anderson/Connor
Series: Connor Is Basically Zorro [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1987648
Comments: 30
Kudos: 109





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is unbetaed, but I did go through it like eight times for typos. But I kept finding some, so who knows how many more there are.
> 
> Dedicated once again to my fellow hankcon pals in the hankcon discord, who feed my muses on a daily basis. <3 <3
> 
> Also, this fic is rated mature because there's a little mention of some smut, but no actual smut. Though I do plan on adding smutty inserts later, have no fear! This is also why the some of the chapters are so short, because I need to make it easy to explain where the smutty inserts go later in the series. So, there you go. Enjoy!

Hank’s been sitting in this stupid, uncomfortable armchair in the dark for about an hour and a half when there’s finally movement, and a shadow slips in through the door hidden behind a bookcase.

Finally.

He waits until he’s completely sure the deed is done, then turns on the small lamp next to him with the satisfaction of a trap well sprung. The slender, black-clad figure turns around to face him, standing out like an elegant, sore thumb amongst the garish and disgustingly expensive décor.

“Fancy seeing you here,” Hank says, which gets him a delighted smile; the only part of the burglar’s face Hank can see, thanks to the silky, Zorro-like mask. Except the eyes. Those clever, brown eyes Hank has seen directed at him several times now in situations distressingly familiar to this one.

“Fancy that,” the burglar says, eyes twinkling in the low light. “If we keep meeting like this, people might talk.”  
  


“Oh yeah, definitely. So if you’d just lemme put these nice bracelets on ya, I’m sure we can shut ‘em up,” Hank says, dangling the cuffs from one finger.

The burglar tsks at him. “You’re not even going to offer a date, first? I expected better from you, Lieutenant.” Even as he’s speaking, he’s still stuffing valuables into his various small pockets, as if continuing to commit a crime, right in front of a police officer catching you literally in the act, is just another Tuesday.   
  


“I dunno what you expected, but you’re not walking away from this one. You really think I don’t have this whole place surrounded?”

The burglar huffs. “You don’t.”

_He doesn’t_.

And he can’t decide if he’s impressed or annoyed that this twink thief somehow knows that, too. But he does have backup, and this time it’s gonna _work_. There’s literally only one way in and out, and this smug little shit should really know better.

Or maybe _Hank_ should know better by now, because the burglar just closes the safe and the painting concealing it, as if to be polite, and then walks casually towards a window. They’re fifty stories up, there’s nowhere to go. No window washer platforms, no scaffolding, nothing other than sheer glass and a clean drop onto the street below. Hell, the windows don’t even _open_. And yet, the little shit just walks right up to a window and peeks through the glass, as if checking how high up they are.

Hank sure fucking hopes he’s not considering jumping though the window. He’ll crack his skull before it’ll break.

“Where the fuck do you think you’re going? Just come along quietly, and I’ll try my best to get you off easy.”

“Oh, I’m sure you will,” the burglar says, stepping back from the window with a smirk directed his way, and Hank gets the distinct impression he’s not talking about prison time. “But I’m afraid I have a previous engagement.”

Hank is about to step in and cut this banter short, because those are the words of someone about to do something really stupid that might get them killed, but he doesn’t get a chance to, because that’s _exactly what fucking happens_.

There’s a sharp bang that makes Hank’s ears ring, and the window explodes outward, leaving a jagged hole about the size of a trash can lid.

Oh _hell no._  
  


“Catch me if you can, Lieutenant.”

And with that, the little shit just jumps at the hole, somehow curling himself into a ball small enough to fit through, and Hank can only watch in horror as he drops like a rock. For about twenty feet. Then his arms and legs are thrown out, revealing his skin tight suit to be a fucking _wing suit_ , carrying him away across the city in a graceful arch.

Hank is left staring out the window, torn between impressed and infuriated as angry voices erupt in his ear piece.

This is the _fifth time_.

Fowler will lose his fucking shit. Again. God _dammit_.


	2. Chapter 2

“ _Catch me if you can, Lieutenant.”_

The words haunt Hank’s every waking hour.

He likes to think it’s because he’s dedicated to his job and to justice, but he also likes to think he’s at an age where he can stop _lying_ to himself.

No, those words haunt him because, god, he wants to catch this little shit so badly. And he wishes he could say for sure it would be to lock up a criminal, but he _can’t_. His hands itch to touch, grab and hold. For _himself_.

Jesus, he needs to take a vacation or something if he’s at the point where a pretty mouth and some husky words get him rattled like this.

“Heard your little boy toy slipped through your fingers again,” Reed says as he breezes by, in full asshole mode as per usual. “You sure you don’t wanna reconsider that early retirement? Maybe give someone else here a shot at the case?”

“What, so you can mouth off at the richest assholes in town and get the mayor on our asses? _Please_.”

Hank knows very well why he got this case. It’s because he’s _old_. Not nearly as likely to cause any of the upper crust to get too handsy, which may or may not lead to drama that could ultimately affect the private donor money the DPD in part depends on.

Not that that’s _never_ happened to him, but it’s definitely been happening less and less in the last decade or so.

And he’s probably also the least likely to cause an incident in any other respect, because unlike the younger and more starry-eyed officers, Hank doesn’t give a shit who’s having their expensive crap stolen. Hell, his generation was all ready to _eat the rich_ , but somehow never got around to it. So he’ll smile and wave and not touch them with a ten foot pole, which means Fowler won’t have to worry about losing the private funds keeping the DPD in kevlar and smart-desks because some rookie can’t keep it in their pants.

Reed does have something of a point, though. This cat burglar thing is starting to look – and feel – an awful lot like flirting. And Hank really, _really_ wishes he didn’t like it so much.

Hell, maybe he _should_ hand the case over to someone else. Someone younger. Someone who’s not _double the age_ of this fucking twink thief.

He has to huff out a frustrated laugh at himself, because here he is literally considering dropping a case so a criminal can get his flirt on with someone age appropriate.

Fuck that, Hank just needs to get his shit together, and finally _get_ this slippery little fucker before the media catches on again. Third time he got away a reporter got the scoop, and it was major news for _weeks_. Hank got chewed out by Fowler for the duration, and he’d really like to have that _not_ happen again.

His phone rings, and he picks up immediately.

“Whaddya got for me, Chris?”

“Look, uh...” Chris isn’t usually this hesitant. He’s professional to the bone when he’s on the job, and Hank is concerned just from hearing a pause like that. “You should maybe get down here.”

Chris and his team have been staking out likely targets for a week, and while there have been sightings, there’s been no indication of the burglar casing any particular spot. Until maybe now.

“Be there in ten. Did we drop the ball? Is he already going in?” From what Hank knows of this slick little prick, that’s not his M.O. He never goes in without casing a place for a few days at least. If he’s charging in that’s either a good sign or a very bad sign, in Hank’s experience. Crooks don’t tend to change their methods unless they’re forced to.

“No. And I don’t actually think he’s going to, either,” Chris says, and Hank pauses in the middle of getting into his coat.

“Then why do you need me?”

“Well...”

Chris just stops there, and then Hank’s console lights up with a message. It’s a clip from Chris’ surveillance feed, showing the burglar’s unmistakable form slinking around in a dimly lit rooftop garden, not even _trying_ to stay out of sight. And then, like a real shithead, turns to face the camera van, hidden in a parking complex half a mile away, and mouths _call me_ , complete with finger phone motions and all. And then he plops down on a bench, feet up and twiddling his thumbs, clearly ready to wait.

Hank is sort of impressed in spite of himself.

“Be right there.”


	3. Chapter 3

“Lovely night for it,” Hank says, irritated already from the fact that he’s approaching this confident little shit from behind and he hasn’t even twitched yet. Sloppy.

The burglar whips his head around when he hears Hank’s voice, though, and his pretty mouth goes immediately from bored smirk to delighted grin.

“Oh! I thought they’d send a lower level officer in first!” he says, and Hank doesn’t miss how a little device is tucked into the thief’s belt. So the path is probably booby trapped somehow. So _not_ sloppy. Dammit, now he’s back to being impressed.

  
  
“So. I’m guessing you wanted to see me?”

“I did. I do,” the burglar says, smile going smaller and sweeter in a way Hank should really not feel as good about as he does. “I have a request.”

Hank huffs. “What planet do you live on if you think you’re in any position to do that?”

  
  
“I didn’t come empty-handed,” the burglar says, and, fuck, Hank really wishes those words brought up more appropriate mental images. As he’s talking, the thief takes out a small, black pouch, and tosses it to Hank. He catches it easily, and keeps his eyes on his company while tugging it open. One glance at the glittery contents tells him everything.

  
  
“Okay. I’m listening.”

  
  
“I need you to let me do a job. Just one job. I know your friends are listening, and I’m more than willing to bring it up with your captain as well. But let me do this _one_ job, and the take from the last _three_ will be in your hands.”

Hank’s eyes narrow. “What’s the job?”

  
  
“If I told you that, it wouldn’t be a surprise,” the thief says with a wink that does terrible, horrible things to Hank’s insides.

“Okay. Then _why_?”

The burglar looks uncharacteristically somber, and crosses his arms over his narrow chest. “Because it’s the right thing to do. You’ll know that once I’m done.”

“And why should I trust a criminal to do _the right thing_?”

The shit-eating grin is back, and Hank needs to stop loving it so goddamn much, it’s unprofessional.

“Because you _know_ me. You know I only take from those who have too much. You know I never hurt anyone.”

  
  
“I think the owners of this bauble here would disagree,” Hank says, wiggling the small bag.

“Come on, now, Lieutenant,” the thief says, coming in closer. Hank could make a grab for him. Could probably easily overpower him with sheer body mass. But there’s still a booby trap somewhere nearby, and who knows what other little gadgets are available. It’s hard to tell in the low light what this little shit is carrying on his person.

But, god, it’s tempting, and not only for law enforcement reasons. Hank is not imagining that hip sway and voice dip. He’s been around the block, he knows a blatant proposition when he sees it. And for the first time in quite a long career he’s genuinely tempted to accept it, fuck his life.

“We both know the realities of this world. Some people have everything while others have nothing. It’s not fair,” the thief murmurs, his eyes so very brown, and darting around Hank’s face, as if taking him in up close while he has the chance. “You picked your path to righteousness, and I picked mine. But we’re on the same side.”

“Are we?” Hank asks, barely able to make his voice audible from how his mouth waters as this too-pretty man moves in close enough to _smell_. He smells _good_ , holy fuck.

“You know we are,” the thief purrs, and okay, Hank needs to get this situation back under control before he pops an actual, literal boner with a camera and mic on him.

“You know what, I’ll consider it. On one condition.”

The thief blinks slowly, and then the smirk is back. “Oh, really. And what might that be?”

Hank allows himself a full two seconds to consider if this is a good idea before going for it. He’s a gambler, after all, and sometimes he wins. And he likes his odds on this one.

“Your name.”

“Oh, Lieutenant, _really_ now-”

“I mean it.”

The thief stops and looks at him. Really looks. Hank isn’t stupid enough to think that this guy doesn’t know that no matter what name he gives, it’s something Hank can work with. Even if it’s a cartoon character or celebrity, the choice reflects something about this unknowable person who’s been toying with Hank for months now.

But if Hank is reading this right…

  
  
“I mean… if you really think we have this mutual… _trust_ ,” he makes sure to emphasize the word as if it’s a completely different word, and from the way the guy’s mouth twitches, he easily catches on. “Then give me something to build on.”

“You’re holding it."

“You know that’s not what I mean.”  
  
  


Time to go for broke.

“Maybe it would be nice to know what to call you in my head,” Hank mutters, hoping it’s low enough for the mic to not pick up, but it probably isn’t. And if everyone hears it, it’s still no worse than other things he’s said to make perps slip up. But this feels _personal_.

Clearly the thief thinks so too, because he moves subtly, putting himself between the camera and Hank’s face in a way that can’t possibly not be deliberate.

“ _Don’t play with me_ ,” he mouths slowly, and Hank meets his dark eyes firmly with his own.

“Who’s playin’?” he says out loud, and he can’t possibly have imagined the way the thief’s breath sucks in, and his chest quickly rises under his folded arms.

Shit, this guy is actually _into_ Hank for some unknown reason. It’s not an act or wishful thinking from a dirty old man. It’s _genuine_. Jesus _fuck_.

The thief gives him another long look, and then another smile. “Alright, but for your eyes only. No putting it in any police files. Deal?”

“Deal,” Hank lies, and the guy knows it, but still keeps up the game. Slowly, he spells out a name in ASL where the camera doesn’t see, and while Hank only knows the slightest hints of ASL, he catches the drift.

_Connor_.

“I’ll be hitting Stratford Tower at two a.m. on Friday. If you let me do my thing, then I’ll make sure you receive the promised goods within twenty-four hours.”

“It’s not my call. If Captain says no, then the deal’s off,” Hank warns, because he still wants to keep his job. But considering the opportunity to get literal millions worth of priceless jewelry dumped in their laps, bringing with it the immense gratitude of a lot of very influential people, Hank doubts it’s gonna present a problem.

“I know,” Connor says, eyes twinkling with mischief. “But I also know you’ll do your very best to make my case.”

He looks like he’s about to leave, but then he stops, and reaches out a slow hand towards Hank, eventually letting his gloved palm come to rest on Hank’s chest. “You have a good heart, Hank. Just keep listening to it.”

And with that, he bounds towards the edge of the rooftop, does an impressive side-flip over the fence, and vanishes into the night.

Hank manages to resist the urge to run after him with his heart in his throat, like the did the first few times Connor just slipped off into some unexpected direction. There’s usually nothing to see anyway. When he’s gone, he’s gone.

So Hank’s left on the quiet path, a bubbling water feature nearby, and roughly half a million dollars’ worth of stolen goods cradled in his sweaty palm.

His chest feels warm where Connor’s hand was.

God, he’s fucked.


	4. Chapter 4

There are no alerts that Friday. Which means one of two things; either Connor was so smooth about it that no one caught on, or… whatever he stole was something so illegal that The Stratfords are not about to report it missing.

Connor can definitely pull a heist quietly. He’s probably pulled off a few Hank never even caught on to, considering how many unexplained jewelry thefts are reported these days. But for the Stratfords to not even report a break-in is highly suspicious. Hell, Hank even stops at the tower on his way to work Friday morning, and spends a full minute looking on in mild despair as window fitters work somewhere up high. Hell, Hank even spots a couple of suction marks on the lower windows, meaning that Connor climbed roughly ten stories up with just his own body strength, and maybe even climbed down the same way, who knows.

God, Hank wishes it didn’t make him feel as hot inside as it does.

Fowler is in a horrible mood the entire day as they wait to hear from Connor. Hank isn’t too worried, he knows he won’t hear anything during work hours. Connor strictly operates in the dark, and Hank makes sure to leave work before nightfall to be alone as soon as possible. Because he has no doubt that Connor will find him when he wants to.

And, sure enough, as Hank steps out from Jimmy’s bar after a single drink, unlike his usual five or so, there’s a sound somewhere off to the side. Like the ting of a coin being flipped. Hank follows the sound around the building, into Jimmy’s back alley, and Connor steps out smoothly from behind a dumpster.

There’s a shiny coin darting from one hand to the other, dancing across his bare knuckles, but all Hank can see is _Connor_. In regular clothes. Still wearing his mask, but not his usual slinky outfit. And for some reason it makes Hank feel light-headed seeing him like this. Looking almost _normal_ in a soft turtleneck, neat slacks and an open pea coat. He looks soft. He looks ready for a fucking date, and for a brief, dizzy moment, Hank wonders if that’s literally what Connor’s here to offer.

But then he brings out a significantly larger bag than the last one. Just a boring plastic bag from a random shop down town, but when he hands it to Hank there’s no doubt what’s in it. He’s holding the value of a couple of private jets in a slightly used, crinkled drug store bag. It’s a little wild, if he’s honest.

“Thanks.”

“You sweet talker,” Connor says, putting his coin into his pocket. “Your loot. As promised.”

Hank snorts. “What are you, a pirate?”

“Cat burglar, please.”

“Here, kitty, kitty,” Hank says flatly, and Connor lets out an actual laugh. God, the sound of that laugh makes Hank’s gut erupt into butterflies, and that’s really fucking bad.

“You’re hilarious. But you kept your promise. And for that I thank you.”

Hank nods, not sure if praise from a criminal is something he should lean into or not. He does anyway.

“You’re welcome.”

There’s a moment of silence where Hank just takes Connor in. There’s more light here than there usually is when they meet, and there’s so many details to see.

His shoes are shiny, possibly custom made. His clothes look high end but not unique in the slightest, and Hank can just see a few strands of brown hair slipping out right below the knot of the mask at the nape of his neck.

Connor stares right back, but Hank is willing to bet nothing Connor sees will be put in a file anywhere. Not that Hank ever got around to putting Connor’s name in a file either...

“So,” Hank says, clearing his throat, and trying to regain his equilibrium. “You’re not gonna tell me what you stole?”

“Oh, you know. The usual. Several millions worth of private property. Some blackmail material for a rainy day. Some evidence that I might let you have a peek at sometime, if you ask nicely.”

So The Stratfords are definitely into something illegal. Hank can’t help but prick his ears up. “I can ask _very_ nicely.”  
  
“Oh, I know you can,” Connor says, moving slowly through the cone of light from one of the two lamps in the alley, giving Hank one, decent chance at a well-lit gaze, and eventually coming to a stop a foot away from him. He’s so close. _Too_ close. “But you’ll have to butter me up if you want me to bring it to you. I don’t give it up on the first date.”

Hank helplessly moves closer himself until they’re sharing breaths right outside the border of the light, Connor’s eyes shining and wide as his lips part. “You sure about that?” Hank murmurs hotly, and _Jesus_ , Connor actually _whimpers_.

“I don’t… actually have it with me,” Connor breathes, swaying in closer to Hank, and fuck it, he’s ready to stop pretending now.

He grabs for Connor, like he’s wanted to for so long, feels his body tense and then melt under his hands as he captures Connor’s lips in a filthy kiss, no foreplay.

Who is he kidding, the foreplay has been going on for _months_ , and Hank gets hard in his jeans so fast it hurts a little, as Connor sighs and whimpers and grabs Hank right back, fingers digging ruthlessly into his back.

Hank could pull the mask off right now. See Connor’s face and find him. Stop his criminal life with one quick move.

But he doesn’t. God help him, he _doesn’t_.

Instead he pushes Connor up against the nearest wall, keeping him in one goddamn place for once, and shoves a knee between his legs. Feeling how hot and firm he is there already is balm on Hank’s conflicted soul, because no matter how pathetic he feels right now as he’s basically flushing his principles down the drain, at least he’s not alone in his madness.

“ _Hank_ ,” Connor moans, grinding against his thigh, and Hank has to shut him up, or he’ll lose his mind for real. So he kisses him again, deeper, licking into him and memorizing the taste, the smell, the feel of him. Not for any case files, no, only for himself and his late night fantasies.

Because that’s all this can ever be.

The thought is sobering, and Hank feels his passion slowly start to fizzle. He softens the kiss, easing them both down, and when he finally lets Connor’s lips go they’re kissed a deep red, and his mask is slipping up his nose. Hank cradles Connor’s cheeks in both hands, and uses his thumbs to ease the mask back down.

Because that’s not his to see. Not yet. Not until Connor decides.

He catches Connor’s gaze, sees the question there, and shakes his head fondly. “Ah, Christ. You really fuck me up, you know that?”

“I don’t mean to,” Connor says, a note of hurt in his voice. “But, then again, I am a criminal. I suppose that’s part of the deal.” He starts to slide away, out of Hank’s arms, and Hank grabs for him. Not to catch him, just to make him stop, and it makes his heart literally hurt with emotion that Connor _lets him_.

“Hey. This is on me. I’m over fifty, you’d fucking think I’d have my principles down by now. Me being fucked up over this is entirely due to my shitty timing for having a mid-life crisis.”

Connor’s eyes search his for a long moment. “Is that all this is?”

_Is it?_ Hank really wishes he could truly say that’s all it is. That’s _explainable_. But no, this is more than that, which means it’s time for soul searching, again, and Hank is really getting tired of that. He’s too old to re-invent himself all over again.

“No,” he sighs, and, god, the way Connor’s eyes soften is enough to make a guy do something incredibly rash and stupid.

He yanks Connor in for one more desperate kiss. A goodbye. Because after this he needs to get his priorities straight.

It’s as if Connor knows, and he clings to Hank, taking every last morsel Hank offers, but also lets him go when he finally pulls back.

“This… I can’t...” Hank tries to explain, but he can’t find the words, and Connor just nods.

“I know,” Connor says, a little sadly, and reaches up to slide his warm hand across Hank’s bearded cheek. “It’s okay.”  
  
“No. No, it’s not.” Because it really fucking isn’t. To quote a movie from his youth, this really is a goddamn bitch of an unsatisfactory situation.

Connor gifts Hank another smile, a small and kind one, and gives a gentle tug on his beard. “Hey. Have a little faith. Who knows what the future might hold?”

Nothing good, if Hank’s personal experience is anything to go by. Fuck, he probably needs therapy. Again.

All he can do now is shake his head, and force himself to leave Connor’s arms, even though right now it’s literally the last thing he wants to do.

“Better get these to the station,” Hank mumbles shamefully, as he picks up the bag of millions of fucking dollars he just let fall to the ground in favor of grinding up against a criminal half his age. Jesus fucking christ.

“Hey,” Connor calls, and Hank turns back to look at him one last time. “Catch me if you can,” he says, and Hank is given the gift of seeing for the first time where Connor goes when he leaves, rather than him just doing a goddamn Batman and vanishing into thin air.

He swings himself up a nearby drainpipe, climbs up it like a monkey, shiny shoes and all, and makes it looks smooth as hell, even with his thick coat swinging below him. A little further up he hops onto a fire escape ladder instead, and looks down at Hank one last time before darting up to the top of the building. Hank is still watching as Connor disappears onto the rooftop, and blinks from surprise when a small, black ball is tossed over the edge and into the alley.

Hank picks it up and unfurls it with shaking hands.

_Connor’s mask_.

It should go to evidence. He should bag it and tag it. Get it registered and analyzed.

He doesn’t.


	5. Chapter 5

Jeffrey is ecstatic, of course, when he gets the goodie bag. _Reed_ is ecstatic when Hank immediately requests to be taken off the case, because he’s the obvious next in line for the job, and no one is surprised when he takes over.

Everyone is surprised, however, when days and then weeks pass with zero movement from the now notorious cat burglar.

Hank does consider the notion that Connor just left his occupation in a huff because he could no longer torment Hank on a weekly basis. But then he sees Connor’s sincere eyes and soft smile in his mind, and dismisses the idea.

Something else is going on, and all Hank can do is hope that Connor is at least staying safe, and not moving on to bigger and more dangerous heists.

It’s been about three months of Hank being back on Red Ice cases, which is his main wheelhouse, when Fowler calls him into the office to inform him he’s getting a partner again. Hank yells at him for a while, pretty much just out of habit, but then accepts his fate.

He’s known it was coming for years, it’s frankly a miracle Fowler let him run his own show this long.

On the day his new partner is due to arrive, he tries to look them up, but finds to his confusion that there’s no file. The mention of the transfer of a new employee to the DBD is literally the only thing he can find. Which means that everything right down to the person’s name is still sealed. Damn, this new detective must be very recently off some deeply confidential cases, and Hank can’t help but be curious.

“Good morning, Lieutenant.”

Hank hears the voice behind him, and is struck with such an intense feeling of horror it damn near defies comprehension.

That’s Connor’s voice. Out loud. In a brightly lit police station. _Right behind Hank_.

He’s acutely afraid of what he’ll see when he turns around. Connor in disguise? In cuffs? Turning himself in?

When he finally gathers the courage to slowly spin his chair around, what he sees is a neat man in a new suit, skinny tie and those familiar shiny shoes, sporting a smile that would look bland if Hank hadn’t seen that very same one taunting him underneath a mask on at least twenty different occasions now. The mask which had hidden some freaking gorgeous freckles, by the way.

And there’s a visitor’s badge clipped to his lapel. _Connor Stern_.

“You gave me your actual name?” Is the first thing that blurts out of Hank’s mouth, because _what the fuck_. “Are you insane?!”

Connor’s smile goes from blandly smug to something softly amused. “Well, they do say being in love is much like going mad, so. It’s definitely a possibility.”

Hank doesn’t even get a single second to process that bombshell before Fowler spots Connor, and yells: “Stern! Hank! In my office!”

Connor is Hank’s new partner. Connor is a detective. Connor has been undercover for two years, building a name for himself in the Detroit White Collar crime circles, and doing it so well his name won’t even show up in personnel files at all for another few months until the tech wizards can confirm his identity is secure and he doesn’t need to go into protective housing or anything. Hank is supposed to show him around and keep him busy with paperwork until then.

What Hank really wants to do is yell at him, maybe slap him for good measure, and then fuck him until they both pass out or cry.

He does none of those things, choosing instead to keep his tsunami of emotions locked way down, if nothing else just to make Connor fucking suffer a little for how he jerked Hank around for so long. Gratifyingly, it seems to work, and by the time the bullpen population thins out for lunch, Connor’s customer service smile is starting to look a little strained.

“Come on, lemme show you the evidence vault,” Hank says. “It’s pretty cool, very high tech, you’ll love it.”

Connor nods and follows, like a good little newbie, and Hank makes a tiny hand gesture at Janice in her security booth before heading down the corridor to evidence.

He unlocks the door, and lets himself and Connor into the bright, sterile room with the revolving shelves, keeping up the mask of professionalism right up until the door locks behind them.

Then he shoves Connor into the nearest wall, and watches with grim satisfaction how there’s a hint of fear in his face before he catches on, and goes wide-eyed and lax against the wall.

“Han-” is all he gets out before Hank is on him, kissing him so hard it’s bound to hurt, and groping at everything he can reach while mashing his full body weight against Connor.

“Hank,” Connor gasps, the first chance he gets. “We shouldn’t… here… camera-” Hank shuts him up with another kiss and squeezes his ass until he shakes in Hank’s arms.

Only then does Hank let their lips part again, and licks his way to Connor’s ear. “Have a little… _faith_ ,” he says, giving the earlobe a little sharp bite, and Connor makes a sound the should really only be heard in pornos.

“Okay, alright, I get it, I’m sorry, I should have told you-”

  
“You damn well should have _not_ , you absolute moron,” Hank growls into his ear. “But you could maybe have kept it in your pants until you were done being undercover, so I wouldn’t have made an idiot of myself on camera so much.”

Connor laughs, and then gasps as Hank bites him again. “What can I say, you’re just that alluring.”

“Bullshit.”

“I wanted you to bend me over on that rooftop,” Connor whispers in Hank’s ear, and, well. Hank sure ain’t no angel.

But Janice is bound to turn the surveillance back on in a few minutes. She can only claim interference for so long.

So Hank kisses Connor again, and again, and then one more time, sucking his lower lip before letting go, and then easing away. Connor is so visibly aroused it’s an obscene look, and Hank honestly can’t say he’d blame Janice for turning on the camera a little early to get an eyeful.

“Our five minutes are up.”

“Huh?” Connor says, dazed and still sporting an incredibly obvious erection in his nice suit pants. Not that Hank doesn’t have one going of his own, but his heavier jeans make it less obvious.

“Janice in security is a very nice person. For about five minutes at a time, anyway.”

Connor looks up at the camera just as the little red light comes back on, and he quickly turns away from it and adjusts himself.

“A little warning would have been nice,” he croaks, straightening his tie.

“What, like you warned me at all that I _wasn’t_ throwing away my entire career for a pretty face?”

Turning back, and looking only slightly less obscene, Connor does have the good grace to look a little sheepish. “That’s fair.” His eyes find Hank’s again. “But I can’t say I regret it.”

“There’s still time,” Hank says with dark promise in his voice, saluting the camera before letting them both out of the evidence room again.


	6. Chapter 6

“So. You were undercover. For two years,” Hank says flatly, Sumo snoring under the dining table.

“Correct.”

“As a _cat burglar_.”

“Yes.”

Hank narrows his eyes at Connor over their beers. “That’s… weirdly specific.”

  
“What can I say. I have a very special set of skills.”

“No shit,” Hank says, while mentally telling his boner to calm the fuck down. They’ve got time, now. All the time in the world.

“I’m still not legally allowed to divulge any of this,” Connor says, and Hank nods, because he’s supposed to do that, but also makes a _go on_ gesture. “But yes, it was a long con, and Stratford was one of the main targets. The list of criminal endeavors they’re into is a mile long. Drugs, embezzlement, human trafficking, you name it.”

“Well, shit. Guess that explains why Jeffrey was so willing to let you do your thing. I did wonder why he didn’t flip his lid.” Then something occurs to Hank. “Wait, were you wired too the whole time?!”

Connor twists his beer bottle slowly between his fingers. “Not… the whole time.”

So there’s presumably no audio or video of Hank making out with an assumed criminal in a back alley. That’s some good news at least.

“You’re still in the dog house for jerking me around, though.”

“Of course. And I expect no less than to be… thoroughly reprimanded,” Connor says, and Hank drains his beer in one long gulp.

Connor gets up all casually, like he didn’t just imply something very filthy, and then points towards the hallway. “Bedroom’s this way?”

Hank’s up and giving chase in the blink of an eye.

And this time? This time he’ll _catch him_.

End.


End file.
